Why Peter Bishop Doesn't Drive
by gigi2690
Summary: Peter and Olivia talking during a long car ride. A little bit of angst wrapped up in a bunch of fluff. Idea is from the interview where Joshua Jackson said he'd like to know why Peter never seemed to drive.


It was fall in Boston, which meant the weather was that perfect combination of cool air in your lungs and warm sun on your face. Unfortunately they weren't in Boston. They were in some rural part of Pennsylvania; it was 2:30 a.m., the smell of manure hung heavily in the air, and the rain pounded against the windshield as if it were personally affronted by their existence. It was a bleak night indeed. They'd finished a very disturbing case involving a particularly nasty insect that released a hallucinogen when it bit you. Walter had taken a liking to it, having named it Shirley, and was going to get a ride back with another agent tomorrow after he had time to bond with his new pet.

Peter rubbed his eyes, took in the blurry shapes in front of them for a few moments longer, and then turned to gaze at the profile of the only face he ever wanted to see at 2:30 in the morning. He took in the braid of her hair, curling at the tip to wrap itself inside her jacket. He trailed his eyes across her proud cheekbones and then along the line of her jaw, soft yet unyielding. He swallowed his snort at how accurate a depiction that was of his love. He was half way down the gentle slope of her neck when he saw her swallow. She knew he was watching her. A glance at her lips was all the confirmation he needed.

He was pretty sure he had a dopey look on his face, but it was worth it to see her shoulders relax and the side of her lips to quirk into _that_ grin. Mona Lisa had nothing on Olivia Dunham. Given his intent focus on her lips, he really should have realized she was speaking. She didn't seem to mind repeating the question,

"Do you really hate driving?" Peter sat up a little straighter in his seat, turning more fully towards her,

"You like driving." He tried to say it very matter-of-fact, but humour laced his words. Olivia shot him a glare that clearly said, 'Stop Being a Cheeky Bastard.' She swerved as gracefully as one can around an abandoned tracker in two inches of mud and rain, and she did it without having dropped his gaze. They needed to have another talk about the fact that Olivia's cortexiphan abilities clearly weren't gone. Not only were they not gone, but she was often using them without thought. And while part of him loved being with wonder woman, he worried for her, and now, he worried about the baby too. He was pulled from his thoughts; Olivia was speaking again,

"Do you truly hate driving, or did you just not want to tell me what happened in California?" And it was a tribute to how far he'd come; how far they'd gone together, that he didn't tense up at that moment. A slight twitch of the jaw, the instinctual reaction of anyone prying into his past ingrained from years of learned behavior, but a moment later he relaxed and managed a small smile,

"So did the FBI finally get around to putting together the file on me that doesn't exist?" Olivia made a clucking sound with her teeth, sounding very much the part of the mother. Peter was starting to see it. Her as a mother, and frighteningly, him as a father. He didn't really have a good role model for that, in either universe. But when he looked at Olivia, and he looked at the gentle swell of her stomach, ever so lightly visible as Olivia didn't button her suit jackets any more, he could see it.

"Where's your mind Peter?" His eyes found hers again, "I know the difference between the numbing exhaustion from a long case and a mind that won't slow down," she reached across the seat for his hand, and Peter's fingers slid into hers instantly, "so often you're the one slowing me down, giving me back my peace of mind. Roles' reversed hun. Time to share what's on your mind." Peter knew she was right, but he was glad when she turned her eyes back to the road; eyes that had been fixed on his conveying every warmth, support, concern, and sentiment Peter was all too often left without while growing up. And he was glad to be free of the enormity of that gaze; because there was no way in heaven or earth he would have been able to find his words otherwise.

"You. Us. Our baby." Her drew his bottom lip and bit down, unsure how to go on. Wishing there were a way to avoid opening still healing wounds. But of course, Olivia knew what he was thinking,

"I talked to Walter about it. About all the things I've been doing lately. About our worries for our child. After you told me about the things I was doing, things I kept doing, engrained and instinctual without thought or consent, I started noticing it more. Or rather, you more. I'm afraid your life of saving the world has led you to lose your poker face." It was a joke, meant to lighten the mood, it didn't, but Peter appreciated it anyway. He squeezed her hand as he found his voice,

"And what does Walter think?" Her shrug meant Walter hadn't been ready to share any of his theories yet. He was already fiercely protective of his grand child and would want to conduct every test lest he come to the wrong conclusion.

"He took my blood. Asked a few questions and then made me an omelet. You know your father." There was affection in her voice and she raised his hand to her lips, ghosting kisses along his knuckles. And the mention of his father, which for so long spurred anger, now brought him a powerful feeling of contentment with only the dull ache of all the sorrows that lay between them.

Olivia was squeezing his hand again, "Hey, you. It's going to be okay, and if it's not your father will fix it, bending the laws of physics if he has to." And this time his smile came easily,

"You're right. He's in love already. He's going to spoil our child rotten." Olivia's grin widened and she shook her head,

"Don't think that just because you can distract me with visions of our future you're getting out of answering my question about California. I mean, really Peter," she gave him an incredulous look that reminded him very much of when they first met, "how did you not know that you were driving the Governor's car?" Peter laughed and threw the hand not wrapped in Olivia's into the air,

"The guy that I bought the car from was weird and sketchy," he continued on quickly lest she tell him again that everyone he had dealt with in his former life could be described as such, "but I needed a car, and he certainly didn't start off saying 'Wanna buy the Terminator's Car?'" Olivia was laughing now, her nose crinkling in that way that was both adorable and sexy.

It was 3 in the morning, the air smelled of mud and grass, the rain and wind whipped violently against the car, and Peter thought it had the makings of a very good day.


End file.
